


Written words.

by obscureshipyard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Human disaster Brock Rumlow, Jack being Jack, M/M, Shower Sex, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscureshipyard/pseuds/obscureshipyard
Summary: Brock knew he’d never find his bondmate. It happened. People with mundane Words like his often went their whole lives alone, no hope and no bond.“Yes, sir.”Seriously? The fates were just laughing their asses off about that one.He’s on a mission and gravely injured, shit happens, right? People die alone. But he’s not alone, and things get even more complicated from there.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well this one kind of came out of nowhere, always wanted to write a soulmate fic but never had the right pairing for it. Feels just perfect for these two.
> 
> Thanks TemptedforTea for the edits!

This was not how Brock thought he would die: sitting collapsed against rubble and bleeding to death. Well, it wasn’t that far off, but he figured he’d be alone.

He wasn’t alone. Hidden in what passed as decent cover in a bombed out building, Brock was tucked away behind his second in command, Jack Rollins. The other man lay along the floor, perched before a small opening, rifle in hand. Silently, sharp eyes scanned the surrounding area for movement.

Jack had been brought on to the team just shy of a year ago, but quickly proved himself as exceptionally capable. Brock found himself drawn to the other man instantly, but unlike most people, Jack hadn’t outlived his novelty nor his usefulness in the field. He wasn’t a talker, but that was an advantage. Brock considered running his mouth one of his core skill sets. He could fill the empty air between them, no problem.

"You got words, Rollins?" Like right now. Brock felt his toes go cold in his boots. He’d rather talk than wait for death in silence.

"Yes, sir." Jack spoke calmly, eye never once leaving his scope. Steady hands held his gun at the ready. His long body stretched out, he almost looked relaxed.

His words sent a shiver up Brock's spine. Usually, he could tune it out when people said that phrase, but this was different. They were alone. Jack and his goddamn deep voice that sounded so indifferent it made something in Brock ache to get his attention.

"What are they?" It was rude to ask, but fuck it, Brock was bleeding to death. He could be rude.

There was a long pause. Maybe Jack wasn’t going to answer. Shit, he could tell Brock to go to hell and it wouldn’t really matter. Brock was pretty sure this was the end anyhow. 

" _’Report, soldier.’_ " Jack said, as bored sounding saying his own words as if he were telling Brock the weather.

"Seriously?" Brock felt like laughing. What were the chances they’d both have such mundane words?

"Been getting shit for it my whole life, sir. Yes, I'm serious." There was that tone again. At least his tedious tone matched his face. Some people had RBF, but for Jack that B just meant bored.

Brock realized it was probably just a defence mechanism. People were less likely to try to get a rise out of you if they realized it was a lost cause from the start. Brock always took the opposite approach. No one gave him shit about his words because they knew his only response was to lash out, typically with his fists.

Brock wracked his memory thinking of what words they had first spoken to each other. It was hard to think when his head throbbed so terribly.

"How far's tha evac?" Brock slurred. His vision was going dim. If Jack responded, he didn't hear it.

Under his eyelids Brock saw lights brighten and darken, like clouds passing overhead on a sunny day. There were loud noises, then numb silences. Brock was freezing cold for a long time. Then, there was warmth spilling inside of him. He could finally sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

An insufferable, intrusive beeping pulled Brock from his rest. _You couldn’t get annoyed if you were dead, right? So, it was a good thing... right?_ His body fought him, but Brock forced his eyes to open.

Jack sat beside him; long limbs folded into a rigid, tiny chair. Brock's vision was still a bit blurry, but he could tell Jack was mildly annoyed by it. Brock took solace in the fact he wasn't alone, in the room or his irritability.

"Rollins," he croaked, throat so dry it hurt.

"Sir." The other man acknowledged.

"Where the fuck are we?" He blinked at the ceiling until he could make out the tiny details of the tiles above.

"Medical. Nearest friendly hospital bed we could get to. You passed out before evac got to us."

"Shit." Brock looked over to the other man. He was wearing his undershirt, tact vest and jacket thrown over the chair behind him. On his arm was a bright blue strap of coban holding gauze to his elbow. "I thought you told me you weren't injured?"

Brock’s memory was foggy, but he clearly remembered Jack grabbing him and pulling him to safety. He had demanded a report, one fatality--Johnson, no other injuries besides Brock.

"Wasn't, sir." Jack's eyes flicked up to the IV pole next to the bed. Brock followed to the crimson bag of blood that hung there. The tubing traced back to the IV in Brock’s arm.

"Thanks." He offered lamely. Shit, he must have been in a bad way if they were still pumping him with blood, Jack's blood. It made Brock think back to the feelings he had while unconscious. He was so cold, then suddenly warm. His arm still felt a comfortable warmth where the needle lay beneath his skin. _Weren't IVs supposed to hurt?_

They sat in silence for a while. Brock shifted in the bed, taking stock of all his aches and hurts. His ass and back were sore, but that was likely more from laying in the hospital bed for so long. His left flank throbbed when he tried to roll, definitely where he'd been shot. All his fingers and toes worked, and he didn't feel any numbness, so he took it all in stride. He could deal with a flesh wound.

Not long after, a young man in a white coat entered the room. The guy couldn't have been more than twenty. He looked at Brock with a bright smile. Brock just stared back, watching the smile give way to nerves.

"Sergeant Rumlow, good to see you awake. I checked on you earlier, but private Rollins asked we let you sleep a bit longer."

"Good to be awake. What's the damage, doc?" Brock pointedly ignored the young man's comment. Jack was looking out for him, wouldn't be the first time. He still felt like he could sleep for a week.

"The bullet pierced your left side, damaged muscle but missed your liver and spleen. Just a nick to your descending colon that caused all the bleeding. We patched that and it's looked okay on imaging since surgery."

"How soon can I get out of this bed?" Brock was feeling antsy. He hated sitting still and helpless.

"As soon as you're ready. Walking will help move things along, but I'll warn you now, you'll be off duty for at least a week. Light duty after that for another five." The young man smiled as he gave Brock the shit news.

"You're killing me, doc." It wasn’t his first time getting injured in the line of duty, but it was the first time it had put him down and out for so long. He could see Jack shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Brock wondered if Jack would be given his command while he was out. Jack could handle it, he was sure. Likely he’d be the only one Brock would trust with the job, the one least likely to try and usurp the command permanently.

"You've just survived a heck of a lot worse than bed rest, Sergeant. Thank goodness your bondmate was with you. Without his blood I don't think you would have pulled through quite so well--"

"Hold up, who the hell is my bondmate?" Confusion made Brock’s voice a pitch too high as he interrupted.

"Oh no." He watched the color drain from the young doctor’s face. His watery blue eyes jumped from Brock to Jack and back again.

"We're not bondmates, he's my CO." Jack’s voice was steady and clear as he leaned forward in the chair to speak.

"Um--I'm afraid, uh, yeah, this is a terrible way to break the news. I apologize, but the blood tests were very conclusive. We performed them before we transfused. It's standard practice."

"You can see that shit in blood?" Brock practically shook his head to get all the information to stick together. Jack was his bondmate. Brock had a bondmate and he was sitting less than two feet from him.

"Well, yes, it's not magic, it's biological compatibility. Some argue psychological and emotional, as well. But, I can tell you for sure from your tests that you two are a match, blood and tissue type. Your immunological profiles are varied so that they complement each other perfectly. So, if one of you gets sick, the other likely won't, and you can care for each other. It's fairly well researched about bondmates. I'm surprised neither of you is familiar."

Brock felt his world tilting on a new axis. It had been years since he had given up hope. So long since he had even considered the possibility of finding his bondmate. Loneliness, depression, anger--they were feelings better left buried because he had thought there was nothing he could do about it.

"Speaking for myself, I never much saw the point in knowing all about bonding considering how mundane my words are. I figured I'd never find them." Jack’s deep voice cut through the rushing of blood in Brock’s ears.

"Yeah… same." Brock felt like he was losing it. He was tired, in pain, and now he apparently _wasn’t_ alone. He dared to look over at the man next to him. His fucking bondmate. Curious eyes stared back at him. Brock never noticed the deep green of Jack's eyes before. Jack usually kept his gaze low and respectful.

"Well, I guess we could chalk that up to the other forms of compatibility the bonding is credited with." The doctor chuckled awkwardly. Neither Brock nor Jack turned to look at him.

"Hey doc, think you could give us a minute?" Brock wanted him gone. He wanted to be alone with Jack. He wanted Jack to leave, too. He didn’t know how to handle the reality of a bondmate. He was supposed to live and die alone.

"Oh yes, of course! Please, take all the time you need. I'm going to put in the paperwork for your medical leave, Sergeant Rumlow, and I guess... your bonding leave, too." With quick footsteps the doctor left the room, the large door closing behind him with a thud.

"Well, fuck." Brock said, eyes still locked with Jack’s.

"Yep." Jack’s lips barely moved, his face blank.

"Fucking _bondmates_?" Brock brought his hand to his face. He scrubbed over the stubble and rubbed his tired eyes.

"Apparently, sir."

"Pretty sure you can call me Brock, now." He coughed out a humorless laugh and turned back to his second in command.

Jack just raised his eyebrows but didn't disagree. Instead, he stood and took the two steps to stand next to the bed. Brock watched him move, slow and graceful. Jack watched him back, just as closely. It sent a feeling like electricity under his skin. Neither spoke as their hands bridged the distance between.

"Fuck." They said in unison. Jack's skin was warm, a little clammy, but the rush of the bond taking hold between them was a whole new sensation. The sudden connection was a fist to the gut.

Neither man pulled away.

"How is this--like, we've touched before." It was baffling. Brock had been practically standing next to his bondmate for a year and not known.

"Never skin to skin." Jack's voice held something like awe. The air felt thick and warm between them, their hands still gripping each other. Brock moved to sit up but stopped short with a grimace. His wound protested the sudden movement. It put him on his back with a hiss. After the spike pain settled to a simmer, he was just dizzy.

"You should take it easy, Sergeant." Jack pulled away and sat back in the bedside chair. The loss of contact sent another uncomfortable shudder through Brock’s system. He didn't feel like he could form words with enough authority, still choked up from the pain. So instead, he just flipped Jack off and settled back into the bed.

He wasn't prepared for this.

After three days in the hospital, Brock was discharged. Jack stayed at his side the entire time but never touched him again. He was never far away, but there was always a delicate bubble of space between them.

The flight home was noisy and uncomfortable, in the back of a cargo plane headed out of the country. It was the fastest route to get them stateside for mandatory leave.

It wasn't supposed to be a punishment, but Brock felt like he was being benched. Sure, he was injured, but two months of mandatory bonding leave felt excessive. He hadn't taken more than a week off since he joined the service.

Jack didn't say a word, but Brock could feel the irritation trickling through their unfinished bond when they got the news about the leave. It was strange, feeling someone else's feelings. He was only getting hints every now and then, not full visions or emotions strong enough to really change his own mood. Because apparently that was a thing.

The not-so-helpful doctor who had discharged him left some very bland reading materials on the topic for the two of them. Jack had read through all of them in less than five minutes. Brock was taking his time.

He knew enough now that their bond wasn’t complete. They shared only one physical touch, and likely the blood transfusion had done something to cement the connection. But they hadn’t kissed, hadn’t done so much as shake hands since finding out what they were.

Brock moved slow when they changed planes in the Azores. Jack carried both of their bags to the next plane. He didn’t like feeling so helpless. Even worse, that it was his subordinate and bondmate shouldering the weight he was too weak to carry. The whole damn thing had him in knots.

They sat in the tiny seats that lined the walls of their next plane. Jack’s thigh pressed up against Brock’s. It wasn’t an uncommon position. They’d sat in the back of transport wedged closer than this before, but now everything was different. Brock couldn’t shake the feelings from his head. Worry, and irritation coupled with the continued ache in his side.

He barely noticed when Jack leaned into his space. His big hand offered Brock a bottle of pills. “I get shot in the gut and you’re carrying my bag.” He handed Brock the bottle, his pain medication.

“Deal.” Brock swallowed his pride along with three pills. He did his best to get some sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Nearly sixty hours of travel split between sitting around waiting to travel, shitty sleep in uncomfortable positions, and crap food. Jack was his silent shadow the entire time. He never overstepped into Brock's personal space, but he was never more than a step behind.

Brock was used to the feeling from field work, Jack always had his eight. But this was different. Jack's laser like attention was focused solely on Brock. It felt… Brock couldn't lie to himself, it felt good.

After arriving on base and grabbing their luggage they didn't discuss a plan. Brock was too tired to argue either way. He followed Jack to his truck, didn't ask where they were going. He just wanted his bed. _Was it too soon to invite Jack to bed with him?_

Much to his surprise, Jack pulled up outside of Brock's house. He didn’t remember telling Jack where he lived but was too tired to care. He didn't want to worry about Jack dropping him off and leaving, but the anxiety gripped him tight.

The thought of being alone right now sent a painful ache through Brock's chest. Jack put his truck in park then turned it off. A rush like relief flooded through Brock as Jack got out first.

They grabbed their belongings and Brock let them inside the dark house. He felt along the wall and flipped on the hall light. The bright white light burned his tired eyes.

“Nice place.” Jack offered, setting their bags down near the door.

“Not really.” Brock trudged deeper into the house, dropping his jacket on the ground, and headed towards his room. “I’m going to take a shower.”

 _Please, don't go._ The words lodged in Brock's throat. He battled within himself. Jack was his bondmate, surely, he'd want to stay? But if he didn't Brock refused to beg. This was all a fucking mess.

“Can I come?”

Relief came through, like a cool breeze. Brock nodded without turning to check if Jack saw, not trusting what his tired eyes may show. He walked into the master bedroom.

For such a big guy, Jack barely made any noise when he moved to follow. They each stripped down as they walked, boots, shirts, belts. Brock was down to his boxer briefs by the time he was in the bathroom turning on the water.

He hoped Jack liked it hot, because no way was Brock putting up with some lukewarm bullshit when he was this sore and tired. Luckily, the walk-in was large enough to fit them both and then some. It was the one upgrade Brock had chosen to make in the house. The massive showerhead with amazing water pressure filled the room with steam.

Turning to look at his soon to be shower companion Brock stopped dead. Jack stood in the doorway, completely naked. Over six feet of pale skin stretched perfectly over taut muscle. Above his heart lay the words, Brock’s words. _Report, soldier._

Jack’s eyes were similarly tracing the skin over top of Brock’s heart. _Yes, sir._ Brock took a breath and followed the line of light reddish-brown hair that trailed from Jack’s navel to his cock. Brock wasn’t shy with his gaze. He could feel heat on his skin rise to match the heat thrumming through the bond.

No words were spoken as Brock moved to pull his shorts down, baring himself just as Jack was. The other man stalked close and backed Brock into the hot spray of water. He didn’t move to touch. They stood inches apart as the water rushed down over them. Brock pressed against the cool tile wall, nearly dizzy with the contrast in temperature.

He looked up at Jack and watched his devilish pink tongue lick along his lips. “Tell me when you need me to stop.” Jack lowered his head to Brock’s ear as he spoke. Brock’s eyes dropped closed. He couldn’t imagine in what world he would ever ask Jack to stop.

Jack closed the distance between them. The press of his body against Brock nearly knocked him on his ass. The feeling of Jack’s lips, his tongue peeking out to taste, Brock’s knees did buckle. It was only Jack’s arms around him that kept Brock on his feet.

Fireworks and lightning lit up behind Brock’s eyes. His arms wound around Jack’s broad shoulders to keep him close. The bond between them burst into full, pulsing life. It didn’t hurt but he was suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of getting a new sensory experience he had been numb to for a lifetime.

He could feel everything Jack felt, from the touch of skin to the heart-wrenching pleasure from finally touching his bondmate after decades alone. Jack’s tongue mapped out every inch of Brock’s mouth as they experienced each other, body and soul.

A firm hand at the side of Brock’s neck grounded him as Jack moved down his neck with open mouthed kisses. He stopped to suck at the words over Brock’s heart, sending a whole new wave of pleasure through their bodies. A rustling to his right threatened to pull Brock from his lust-fueled haze, but he could feel what Jack was doing through the bond.

Soapy hands moved between their wet bodies. Jack never stopped touching him. Brock’s fingers dug in deep to feel the coiling muscles of Jack’s back as he lowered those strong hands to Brock’s very interested cock.

It took hard won concentration to keep from cumming on the spot. Jack was gentle as he stroked up and down Brock’s shaft. He kissed along the exposed line of Brock’s throat as he teased past his swollen balls to the crevice behind. Brock’s thighs twitched as he tried to hold them apart and let Jack continue to explore.

His knees threatened to give out again. Behind his eyes, Brock saw images of all Jack wanted to do to Brock with his mouth. Brock's eyes rolled back as fantasy merged with reality and Jack sank down to his knees on the wet tile floor.

 _Two could play at that game,_ Brock decided. He grabbed a handful of Jack’s thick hair, pulling his head from where he was sucking a hickey into Brock’s inner thigh. Brock doubled over and kissed him, all teeth and tongue. Forcing images through the bond of the deep, hard fuck he wanted from Jack before he came.

Jack’s fingers dug into Brock’s thighs with a groan from them both. Jack shoved Brock back against the wall again. He swallowed as much of Brock’s cock as he could. It wasn’t slow, or gentle. But at this point it was everything they needed.

Brock kept his fingers tangled in Jack’s hair as he worked him deeper and deeper down his throat. He let out a deep sigh and tried to relax as Jack’s fingers wormed their way inside. More soap helped ease the intrusion, as did all the filthy images and fantasies shared through the bond.

Desperate moans echoed off the walls of the shower. Brock teetered on the edge, feeling torn between begging to come and begging for what was coming next.

With one last kiss to the crown of Brock’s dick, Jack stood from the floor. Brock could feel the slight worry echo from Jack. Shame about past experiences, lovers who had been less than appreciative. Each moment sharing the bond revealed a bit more of each to the other.

Brock forced the feelings away from them both and pulled Jack in for another kiss. He didn’t force any feelings through, figuring his actions would speak louder than anything else. Stepping them back under the warm water, Brock washed them both clean, sure to spare a little extra attention to Jack’s cock, thick and uncut. The blood pulsed through it giving it a lovely deep red flush.

Brock laid a kiss over Jack’s words. “Bed. Now.”

“Yes, sir.” Jack teased as he shut off the water.

They were a mess of kisses as they dried each other off. At one point Brock found himself pinned to the counter, facing the mirror. Jack stood behind him kissing along his neck and grinding his cock into Brock's ass.

He was ready to start begging for more when Jack suddenly stopped. A tingle of fear and sorrow came through the bond. Brock found Jack's eyes in the mirror looking at the incision and bruising on Brock's left side.

"Wasn't your fault." Brock stifled down his irritation. He had made the call to leave cover when he did. If Jack hadn't been there to pull him back..."You saved me, Jack."

Brock placed his hand over Jack's, guided his fingertips to trace gently over the glue-patched line of flesh. He let Jack feel his pain, now only a light soreness.

"Could have lost you." Jack whispered into the back of his neck, as if he were afraid to say it too loud. "Didn't even know you were mine, and I could have watched you die."

"I'm not dead. We're both right here." Brock turned in his arms, cupping a hand under his chin. "And you still haven't reported to bed, soldier. That was an order." Jack's weak, watery laugh came before a deep kiss that made Brock's knees weak.

The light from the bathroom cast a warm glow over the mattress as they stumbled into the bedroom. Jack sat down on the side of the bed with Brock standing before him.

His green eyes practically glowed as he watched Brock sink down to his knees. Goosebumps rose on Jack's flesh as Brock slowly mapped out torso and thighs with his palms. Jack was pliant under his touch, his breath shuddering and slow.

Brock felt a heady lust rushing through his veins as he took Jack's cock in his hand. Delicate skin covering the head tasted clean with just a hint of soap. The heavy weight of it on his tongue turned to hardness that swelled in his mouth.

Jack grabbed onto Brock's neck with a sigh. A hint of salt teased at Brock's tongue. He was tempted to continue, brace Jack's hips and swallow him all the way down. But he was hungry for something more for their first time together.

Pulling off Jack's cock with a 'pop', he grabbed the bottle of lube from his bedside drawer. Heat crept up the back of his neck as Jack's gaze bore into him.

Brock debated staying on his knees and opening himself up, but Jack quickly interrupted those thoughts. Big, strong hands grabbed Brock up and laid him out on the bed. Jack settled between Brock’s thighs like that was where he always belonged.

And maybe it was. Brock let his eyes drop closed again as the warmth from Jack’s body got muddled up with the warmth from the bond. For the first time in his life Brock felt safe and loved and whole. Jack kissed him, surrounded him, held him close. Slicked fingers carefully opened him up wide.

Brock wrapped his thighs around Jack’s hips, pulling him inside. They both let out a shuddering breath as Jack sank in slow. Their fingers entwined. Pleasure and hunger echoed between them. Brock hissed through his teeth as Jack started to move. Together they set a pace that dragged the thick ridges of Jack’s shaft over Brock’s sensitive insides.

Jack’s teeth set in the muscle of Brock’s shoulder, distracting him from the ache of being opened wide. Sweat collected on their skin as they both picked up the pace. Brock couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Jack wrapped his arms around tight; fucked him hard and deep just like he wanted.

Whimpers cut through heavy breathing as Brock teetered on the edge of orgasm. He clawed at Jack’s back, feeling his gut start to clench down, wanting to hold Jack inside and never let him go. The responding groan and electric shock of pleasure from his bondmate shoved Brock over the edge.

He arched off the mattress, feeling the pulse of orgasm ricochet between them. Brock must have screamed because his throat felt sore. But nothing much could bother him as he floated on the warm waves of their combined orgasm.

“You’re heavy.” Brock weakly complained. Jack was a solid weight over top of him, pinning him to the bed.

“You like it.” Jack sighed into his skin.

They lay in the quiet for a long time. Reality faded in and out between sleep and gentle kisses. Brock woke up cuddled close to Jack’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Everything was calm and settled. The bond hummed between them, like a quiet love song playing low in the background.

“So, what are we supposed to do for the next two months?” Brock couldn’t for the life of him keep the anxiety at bay.

“Each other.” Jack deadpanned. Brock couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter from raising in his chest. Maybe the next two months wouldn’t be so terrible.

“And you realize this isn’t just a two month long arrangement, right?” Jack’s voice wavered just the slightest bit. Brock could feel his bondmate’s worry as if it were his own. _Was he good enough? Would he ever be enough? Could he make his bondmate happy?_

“I know.” Brock traced his fingers over the letters etched over Jack’s heart. “You ok, you know, being stuck with me?” Letting vulnerability show through wasn’t something Brock knew how to do well, but for Jack it was worth it. They weren’t alone anymore, and never would be again.

“Only place I want to be.” Jack picked up Brock’s hand and interlaced their fingers. They sank into sleep as morning light drifted between the curtains.


End file.
